Fall From Grace
by Whispers Of A Mad God
Summary: "But the One with the power to Resurrect the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied Him, born as the Seventh Month dies..." A very different prophecy leads the Dark Lord and Bellatrix Lestrange to abduct the metamorph Potter child and raise her a Black; and three days later, Neville Longbottom becomes the Boy-Who-Lived instead. Dark!Metamorph!Fem!Harry
1. Introduction: Rise Of A New Dawn

_**A/N: Whispers here ~**_

_**Just a quick warning; I do not condone the actions seen in this fic; awful things will happen and those responsible will oftentimes get away with it. The opinions of the characters in this fic do not reflect the opinions of the author. Remember it is rated M for a reason.**_

_**On a lighter note, Harry is a metamorphmagus; she acquired the recessive ability from her grandmother Dorea Black, and the muggleborn blood from Lily brought it to the forefront (basically, what happened with Nymphadora Tonks). Being able to switch from gender to gender at a moment's notice, Harry chose female, and was given a new name because of it; although, the world at large assumes "Harry Potter" to be male. But more on that later.**_

* * *

**Fall From Grace**

**by Whispers Of A Mad God**

**Introduction: Rise Of A New Dawn**

* * *

_ DIVINATION PROFESSOR GIVES PROPHECY:_

_October 24, 1981_

_ by: Wylda Widdershin_

_ "I was ever so surprised – I mean, we all thought she was a fraud," one student tells this reporter in a private interview late last night. And it's a sentiment shared by many: in her very first term as the Divination Master of Hogwarts, Sybil Trelawny promptly lost whatever respect she managed to retain from her famous Seer ancestress with her attempted – and failed – second-rate tricks or sleight-of-hand._

_ But it quickly became apparent that this Seer really does have the Eye, and a class of Third Year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws will never forget it._

_ "She was teaching us how to – well, she was attempting to anyway – teach us how to read palms," Muggleborn student Clint Deseray tells this vigilant reporter. "And she stops, and everything gets real quiet, and her voice – her voice was terrifying. And she speaks [the prophecy] and a moment later, she shakes her head, and goes right back to teaching. As if she couldn't remember giving it."_

_ What was this apparently very real prophecy given to a classroom of frightened third years? We here at the Daily Prophet have managed to discover it for you:_

_ "Fires rage and Towers crumble, for the world arrives at a Crossroads... The One with the power to Vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied Him, born as the Seventh Month dies... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal. But the One with the power to Resurrect the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied Him, born as the Seventh Month dies... And shall watch as Fires rage and Towers crumble, for the Dark Lord shall mark her as his own... and the world arrives at a Crossroads..."_

_ What is the meaning of this dark, yet light, prophecy? We here at the Daily Prophet -_

* * *

_TRAGEDY IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW; POTTER FAMILY BRUTALLY MURDERED_

_October 27, 1981_

_by: Wylda Widdershin_

_This reporter regrets to inform the free peoples of Great Britain of the tragic loss of three wizards and witches of the Light. Early yesterday morning the Dark Mark was found in the skies above the ruins of Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow._

_James Charlus Potter, 21, and a proud Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was taken from us by the Killing Curse and found in the entryway of the ruins. His young wife, Muggleborn witch Lily Potter, 21, was also found dead in the nursery room of the Potter Cottage, also taken by the Killing Curse. The cradle for their young metamorph child, Harry Potter, fifteen months old, was found empty._

_It is believed to be the work of Bellatrix Lestrange and an unknown second Death Eater. _

_"It is a horror of the highest degree," Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Mistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonogall, told this reporter late last night. "[They] always seemed so strong, so unbeatable. I can't believe Sirius Black would do such a terrible thing."_

_Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper for the Potters, who held their cottage under the Fidelius Charm. He was found later that day laughing maniacally over the corpses of twelve Muggles and the Potter's friend and ally Peter Pettigrew._

_"I will nominate that honorable young man for the Order of Merlin," Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Barty Crouch Sr, has quoted. "He stood up against one of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's top lieutenants, and while only his finger could be found, he did a good thing. We caught 'im. We caught Sirius Black."_

_Sirius Black is unavailable for comment, and was last seen being taken to Azkaban. The world is a purer place without him._

_(For a biography of Sirius Black, see p.4. For a formal declaration of the Order of Merlin, First Class, see p.7.)_

* * *

_DARK LORD VANQUISHED BY NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM, BOY-WHO-LIVED_

_October 31, 1981_

_ by: Pamyla Adderlacky_

_ In a tragic act of murder, the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named somehow acquired the Secret to Longbottom Manor, and murdered Frank and Alice Longbottom._

_ However, when he attempted to finish fifteen-month-old Neville Longbottom, the Killing Curse rebounded, ending the most infamous Dark Lord of the twentieth century._

_ "The only mark on young Neville is a thunderbolt scar on his forehead, right above his eye," claims Albus Dumbledore. "The Chosen One-_

A heart-wrenching shriek pierced the skies above Malfoy Manor; the mourning of the Dark Lord's second in command.

And the training of little Dromeda Black, formerly Harry Potter, to one day resurrect the Dark Lord began.


	2. The First Year: Rise Of The Dark

_**A/N:** And thus begins the tale of Andromeda Black, formally Andromeda Malfoy, formerly Harry James Potter... And, of course, the cliché pet snake. Then again, when you're the first Parselmouth in the two Darkest families in all of Wizarding Britain, why **wouldn't **you have a snake? It's not a super-pwning-basilisk of badassery, don't worry._

* * *

**Fall From Grace**

**by Whispers Of A Mad God**

**The First Year: Rise Of The Dark**

* * *

Shortly after sunrise on the First of September, I awoke to a silence so complete as to be deafening. I could hear little over the rushing of my blue blood through my veins, the rhythmic drumbeat of breath warming the scales of the chameleon serpent sleeping astride me. This by itself was not atypical; every night since the familiar ever-changing snake had hatched well over four years ago, she and I had been joined at the hip: or, rather, coiled around my shoulders or wrist.

The four-foot sarcastic and oftentimes lewd snake was named Kaiser. I was thankful, on average, twice a day that no one could understand her varied and amusing insults like I could; she would most assuredly find herself on the receiving end of a barrage of potent and exceedingly Dark curses, courtesy of one of the many Death Eaters who had claimed Imperious or outright fled from the Aurors and now lived full-time at Malfoy Manor.

No, what was strange was that I had not immediately risen from my Slytherin-themed mahogany four-poster bed, padded lifelessly into the adjoining restroom, and began my morning ablutions. The ritual cleaning would calm me, as would dressing in the usual green and silver raiment; I would then recline sideways in my feather-soft plush desk chair, feet tucked underneath me, and skim through one of the many journals, grimoires, or tomes that can be found resting within the dark bookshelf adjacent to the walk-in closet on the left of the peculiarly small room. I would continuously tell myself _"five more minutes,"_ until either Draco or my little brother Regulus drags me downstairs by force.

Although, the morning of the First of September is expected to contain many such deviances in my _'normal schedule;'_ or as normal as life can be for the shapeshifting daughter of the most notorious Death Eater and psychopath in the world. On any other day, I would spend the hours proceeding breakfast up until high noon in the parlor or sitting room studying up on either my naturally talented Transfiguration spellwork or the more... _arcane_ branches of magic. Specifically, those with arcane knowledge the Hogwarts library would most assuredly be lacking: typically some form of the Dark Arts or parselmagic.

After a light meal come high noon, one of the many Death Eaters living at Malfoy Manor would take over my training for a number of hours.

I learned the Imperious Curse from Yaxley, who mastered the spell to levels the rest of us can only dream of. He is akin to a skilled puppeteer, able to possess or control several marionettes and dance among the strings. It is little surprise I will never be as proficient with the curse as he is; I have the willpower and precision in spades, but lack the raw power to overwhelm the target. My Imperious Curses tend to manifest a breath more... _insidious;_ oftentimes to the point that the recipient does not even know they have been cursed and, therefore, fail to fight it.

I also became adept at throwing off enemy Unforgivables, and only became more so once Uncle Sev began to teach me Occlumency three years prior. He was a gentle teacher, coaxing me to greater heights every session; I am now as passable as the average pureblood heir, but have always been more skilled with the offensive Mind Arts. I quickly pioneered a method of utilizing Legilimency mid-duel as both a distractionary technique and to incorporate an extra dimension to dueling that few are prepared to handle. Uncle Sev was proud and may have even smiled once or twice when I perfected the technique, but struck a deal with me in order to keep it a secret: he has a reputation to protect, after all.

The Killing Curse was, amusingly enough, the easiest of the Unforgivables to learn; it was powered purely by the desire to kill. And, unlike the Cruciatus and the Imperious, the _Avada Kedavra_ does not have varying levels of efficiency. Dead is dead. A stronger ruthless drive will cause the curse to strike faster and more accurately, but the difference is negligible compared to the others. Alecto and Amycus Carrow taught me it, as none of the other Death Eaters wanted to teach the daughter of Bellatrix Black the Killing Curse. Curious, that.

Mother taught me the Cruciatus, naturally. She had a talent for pain. Her psychopathic nature exceeded her already legendary mastery of the Torture Curse, and in the years since the Dark Lord's... hiatus... she had risen to new heights. I could tell she was itching to get back into the lucrative field of villainy; she torched and looted the occasional out-of-the-way homestead, but according to her, it just wasn't the same without a Dark Mark up above her.

Cruciatus training was... well. My sociopathic nature was alien to Mother, and emotionless voids did not a talented torturer make. For an embarrassingly long time I, the daughter of Bellatrix Black, could not produce even the barest of lights with my Cruciatus. I had no qualms for killing; I not only showed a veneer of indifference towards the entirety of the world excluding family, but felt it, too. I could produce the Killing Curse with Uncle Amy's wand by the time I was seven. The problem was that I found it... _difficult_ to hate; I'm no saint, I'd gladly watch the world _burn, _but I'd do it apathetically rather than joyously. Any emotions beyond amusement or annoyance were typically reserved for the few I could trust with my life: Mother, brother Regulus, cousin Draco, and my Aunts and Uncles among the inner circle of the Death Eaters. My hatred, such a core part of my soul, was sacrificed years ago.

So, since I lacked the ability to conjure a desire to inflict pain on others, Mother and I took the scenic route with our Cruciatus training. Namely, Mother would bind me to my bed and cast Cruciatus after Cruciatus on me. I would wake up to the thousand needles that is the Torture Curse in the mornings, or pass out from the burning heat of it at night. Even then I failed to wish anything upon my foes beyond a papercut; being an inherently rational girl, true malice and a vindictive outlook were foreign to me.

It was during one of my sessions with Uncle Sev that we developed an... alternate route, so to speak. I was examining some of his safer memories and the emotions that tied them together, when I accidentally chanced across one of his missions during the Blood War. Looking through his eyes as he cast the Cruciatus... I was, for the first time in my life, able to comprehend the rush of burning hatred.

Later that night, when Mother cornered me on the journey to my bedroom, and cast the Cruciatus on me... I looked into her eyes and, with the lightest Legilimency probe, scoped out her surface emotions. I was able to replicate the feeling. So I rose from my position, lying prone on the floor.

And cast the Cruciatus right back.

Mother was ecstatic; once she recovered from the shock and the sensation, she tackle-hugged me and spun me around in euphoric circles. We ran back downstairs and outside, to the courtyard teeming with Death Eaters, and threw a surprise party. The warm glow of pride wouldn't leave me for a week.

We then honed the Cruciatus throughout the next year. I was the daughter of Bellatrix Black, damn it; a Torture Curse on par with the Inner Circle is a prerequisite for the position. I quickly adapted and grew an outstanding tolerance for pain; little things like broken ribs are a trifle compared to Mother's Cruciatus, after all.

Before the year was out my Cruciatus was in the top ten of all the Death Eaters.

By my eleventh birthday I could do it wandlessly.

That day, July Thirty-First, had been... interesting. It marked one of the few times in my life where I donned Uncle Cius' name and pretended to be Andromeda Malfoy, metamorph twin sister to Draco. Even Regulus came along, and the seven of us – three Malfoys, three Blacks (Mother being under a glamour), and a Snape – Apparated to Diagon Alley to purchase Draco's and my school supplies.

Mother wanted to gift me something nice for my birthday, and my first wandless Cruciatus, lucky shot or not; the two of us split off from the main group almost immediately, and stalked down Knockturn Alley. I wasn't at all nervous to be in the infamous Dark Arts locale: the Darkest woman in all of Great Britain was at my side, after all. She was terrifying enough to scare off the spooks that go bump in the night.

_"Do you have it?" Mother had drawled to the clerk at Borgin and Berks, dropping her glamour and sauntering towards him. I pulled myself up ontop of Borgin's desk, and swished my feet lazily through the air. _

_ "Y-yes, of course, Mz. Black," the shopkeeper stuttered, rushing into a back room. He must've been terrified of her; after all, Mother nearly killed him a few years back when he made the mistake of referring to her as a Lestrange. He returned a moment later. "I h-have it right here, Mz. Black."_

_ "Good for something, at least," Mother sneered, tossing him a loose bag of coins. She snagged the parcel and turned to smile warmly at me, her attitude flipping a complete three-sixty. She handed the package to me, and mussed my silky raven hair (in imitation of her), humming happily. "Happy Birthday, little Nightingale."_

She had gotten me the _private journal_ of Salazar Slytherin himself; she hadn't known, as it was written in parselscript, but had been particularly enthused when I had told her. Many of his personal parselmagic spells had been created and documented inside, some of which I was nearly ready to cast.

The only other noteworthy store we had entered was Ollivander's; it had been a thoroughly amusing two hours. He had snuck up on us from behind, or rather, attempted to: I was trained by Death Eaters after all. A wandless _"Mandarvi!" _(a peculiar spell, which _cannot_ be cast with a wand at all), the knife-conjuring charm, and a skilled throw, and the utterly shaken but still alive wand-maker stuttered out his apologies. The phantasmal dagger vanished from its position in the wall a moment later.

When he managed to pierce Mother's glamour and determined just who, exactly, had stumbled into his shop... he nearly fainted. Unluckily for him, I was a tricky customer.

Two hours later I skipped away from Ollivander's shop, no longer needing to use the wand of long-dead Cassiopeia Black. My new focus was the sister wand of Voldemort and, unfortunately, Neville Longbottom: ebony, unyielding, eleven and three quarter inches, with a phoenix feather core from the Chief Warlock's own familiar. It was, according to the wand-maker, highly in tune with the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, if a bit light on... well: everything else.

That was a month ago.

"Dromeda!" Regulus called through the crack in the locked door, knocking impatiently on the hard wood. I could hear the squeaks as the pounding increased and the material shrieked in protest. "Sister! It's time to get up!"

My younger half-brother had the infuriating tendency to be completely correct, yet irritating at the same time. I couldn't help but spoil the little metamorph, though; he was too cute. It was in my nature to be overly affectionate with my family, which drives him and Draco spare.

Kaiser roused from her apparently satisfying rest and inspected the door, before turning to eye me questioningly.

_"Don't caussse too much damage to Regulusss, Kaissser."_

The foot-long chameleon snake slithered off the four-poster bed and towards the door. Her voice was laced with amusement and affection for the littlest Black. _"I'll only bite the little ssshifter a tiny bit,"_ Kaiser hissed. _"For interrupting the beauty sssleep of hisss bettersss."_

I smirked, and prepared for the long day.

* * *

"Slytherin, of course," the Greengrass heiress apparent drawled, melodic voice free of inflection and emotion. Her shining royal blue eyes flashed from me to Tracey and back down to her textbook, which I hypothesize is not actually coursework at all. She flicked her wrist and a lock of honey-wheat golden hair caught behind her ear. "I'm not nearly foolish enough for the Lions, selfless enough for the Badgers, or bookish enough for the Ravens. What kind of question is that, Davis?"

"Well _excuse me,"_ Tracey Davis sneered, and I would not have been wholly surprised to see acid dribbling down her chin. Inky black strands of hair were pulled back in a low, tight tail, and dark green eyes looked down upon the much shorter pureblood with derision. "I apologize for making conversation with my betters, my Lady."

_How amusing,_ I thought with the lightest of smirks on my currently aristocratic features. _The littlest Davis has an attitude. Although, I shouldn't be too surprised; halfbloods in the courts of lords and ladies here in Great Britain are consistently trod upon. Especially those who continue to walk in our circles. Unlike her blood-brethren, she seems to have decided to rage right back. Not the greatest show of Slytherin cunning, for that is clearly where she will go, but she obviously has the ambition._

Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes. "It wasn't a slight against you, Davis," she admonished. The heiress apparent was outright ignoring the no-doubt lewd pages of her book, now. "If you do follow Malfoy and I to the Snake Pit, we will do whatever we can to... smooth the wrinkles, so to speak. Slytherin Law."

"Come again?" Tracey inquired, raising an eyebrow. I didn't blame her for her suspicion or hesitance; she no doubt has little reason to trust the word of a pureblood, an heiress apparent even less. "Why would you aid _me?"_

"Don't be foolish; it has nothing to do with you," Greengrass replied airily, waving a hand absentmindedly. "As I said: Slytherin Law. _First Law: Always maintain a unified front. _Whether the Snakes like you or not, they will... _refrain_ from damaging you or your reputation to anyone not in the House. No, we will terrorize you behind locked doors instead."

"I see," Tracey murmured slowly, analyzing the Law and finding it rational. The Law engineered a win-win scenario for the Slytherins: granting a modicum of safety to the weaker or dirtier Snakes and strengthening the core of the House as a whole. "And I assume all of these Laws will become clear to me? This isn't some carefully hoarded pureblood secret, is it?"

"Yes, yes," Greengrass replied, dismissing her emotionlessly voiced quandaries with not so much as a look. She returned her attention to her novel, her cheeks darkening as she spent an inordinate among of time on a single page. _I'll have to have Kaiser steal that for me soon. Speaking of... _"They're listed on the wall opposite the fireplace; or so my mother tells me. I'd tell you more, but, well; you might turn out to be a Gryffindor in disguise."

_Where is that damn snake? _I hissed to myself, glancing nervously around the compartment. _She couldn't have gotten into trouble already – it's not even the first day! I wouldn't be too terribly surprised if it happened, though. I don't see her anywhere; not that __that__ means anything, all things considered. She is a chameleon snake after all, and enhanced to levels of magic far surpassing the natural variety, after the familiar bonding ritual I enacted._

"I find that exceedingly unlikely, Greengrass. No Gryffindor is clever enough to even _think_ of spywork. Let alone actually manage it."

"Awfully knowledgeable for a first year, Davis. Not even at the school yet, and already extolling the virtues of your yearmates."

"Well if that isn't the pan calling the kettle black. Unlike you, I actually have older siblings _already in_ Slytherin; they may not have told me about the Laws, but I know enough to make sweeping generalizations. I know which not to underestimate, and which can't be underestimated no matter how hard we may try," Tracey finished.

_Where is that bludgering snake? I'm going to kill her once I find her. First Draco ditches me, now her? _My thick, raven hair had been steadily whitening over the past handful of minutes, a clear sign of my rapidly rising annoyance to all who know me. It was now a pure, snowy hue, and still the bickering Slytherin duo on the red, gaudy Express have yet to notice it. My thoughts switched to parseltongue as the irritation and loneliness mixed into a cocktail heady enough to make even my mother woozy. _When I find that irritating sssnake, I will bind her to my wrissst and forearm with a permanent sssticking charm._

"Davis, name _one _Gryffindor we will have cause to fear during our seven-year tenure."

"Despite not meeting a single first year despite you and the mute Malfoy, I can already name two," Tracey declared, crossing her arms in victory. "Fred and George Weasley. A well-placed prank is far, far more damaging than most curses. Just try ruling Slytherin House with feathers stuck to all your robes. I'll eat my wand if you can manage it without the masses laughing at you."

"Mute Malfoy?" Greengrass inquired, ignoring the rest of Davis' speech. She cast her eyes in my direction, noticed my change in hair styles, blinked, and ignored that, too. "Huh. We've been on this train for hours, and Andromeda here hasn't spoken a word since saying her name. Why is that, Davis?"

"Maybe she thinks she's better than us, 'cause she's a Malfoy." Tracey's eyes narrowed, watching me suspiciously. I derailed my train of derogatory parseltongue thoughts, and caught her eyes. I just shrugged. "Or she just doesn't like to talk."

"That's likely it, Davis," Greengrass concurred, nodding her head sagely. I was used to people talking as if I wasn't in the room, and wasn't at all affected by their hypothesizing. "Not every pureblood is out to eat you, you know. Most of us, yes. But not all of us."

"Are you one of them?"

"No comment."

"Fair enough." Tracey turned to inspect me again. This time she noticed the white hair, which was beginning to darken once again to Mother's shade of black, and my eyes – previously a royal blue – reverting to their typical violet. "Huh. Why are you changing? How, for that matter?"

"I was wondering, as well," Greengrass added. Her shining, intelligent eyes were alight with curiosity. "But I didn't say anything. I didn't know if it was one of those things you just aren't supposed to mention: like the Chudley Cannons' track record, or Dumbledore's admittedly worrying mental state."

Tracey snickered, and I smirked. Both of those were spot on.

"I'm a metamorph, and the ability runs away from me sometimes," I explained, my face softening. It would take years for me to treat them as casually as I did my family, or the Death Eaters I consider family. But I could relax a little bit. "My hair will fluctuate to match my emotions if I'm not careful."

"It was white, meaning...?" Tracey asked, dropping her voice at the end.

"Annoyance. Don't know where my familiar went; she's always getting into trouble." Which is true, but I didn't mention was that my familiar is a foot-long chameleon snake that is as good as invisible when she wants to be. No point to terrify them unnecessarily. "Not worried, though. She won't go far."

Tracey nodded her head in acquiescence, assuming I have a cat of some form. I didn't correct her. _She'll find out sooner or later._

"I'd ask you what house you think you'll be in, but I'm fairly confident I know," Greengrass stated. I tilted my head in answer, and she went back to her book.

A handful of minutes later, Tracey spoke.

"Hey, Malfoy...?"

"Hmm?"

"What's your natural form?"

I blinked. "You know, no one's ever asked me that. Oftentimes the insensitive or the foolish will ask me to assume a certain form, and I usually respond with a curse, but..." I nibbled lightly on my soft, pink lips. _This Tracey girl is... intriguing. _"I don't have a 'natural' form. What changes I make to my body are permanent; well: permanent until I change it again. There's no base form to revert back to."

Before the raven-haired first year could respond, the train began to slow down as the gaudy, red Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Kaiser shimmered as she slithered across the window's ledge, and I couldn't contain a smirk as I realized she had been spying on Daphne's no-doubt smutty novel; I wasn't at all surprised: comprehending the English language is one of many talents she has acquired after the familiar bonding ritual. It wasn't a stretch to see the lewd serpent utilize these rare skills for kicks.

With Kaiser coiled around my waist and forearm, the three of us Slytherin hopefuls disembarked from the train and followed the crowd of forty-ish first years to the lake. I caught Draco flanked by his minions Crabbe and Goyle, as per an agreement between their three fathers; I hoped he would make at least _one_ friend or ally with a brain and the know-how to use it this year.

_"Three ice mice the two fat onesss will capsssize their boat,"_ Kaiser hissed into my ear softly. Her voice was laced equally with cruel amusement and expectation.

_"And what isss my prize if I win, little ssserpent?"_

_ "Nothing, Missstresss."_

I shook my head in amusement. _"You drive a hard bargain, Kaissser. I accept your termsss."_

I eyed the other first years as I settled down on the magically-powered rowboat, a smirk playing on my lips. No one had noticed my admission to being a parselmouth; everyone was far too nervous as to the upcoming Sorting. Understandable.

Just means I'll be able to display it at the perfect, opportune moment.

Greengrass, Davis, a dark-skinned, raven-haired man with a curious glint to his eyes named Blaise Zabini, and I had a boat to ourselves. None of us spoke after introducing ourselves, and my hair fell behind my shoulders in crimson waves; subconsciously changing once again in order to match my growing excitement. Unlike many of the other first years currently traversing the Lake, I had no doubt whatsoever as to my impending placement. All other emotions were drowned by the rush of joyous glee, as I was minutes away from becoming a Slytherin at last.

Every first year, save for those like Greengrass and I who had learned to control the play emotions have on the unsuspecting face, gasped in unison when Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came into sight. It was truly an impressive sight, putting lesser buildings like Malfoy Manor to shame. The architectural wonder was both welcoming and daunting, warm and an apathetic cold.

Even my mother, Bellatrix Black, had described it as a home away from home. I saw how it could give off that feeling. I wonder if the Dark Lord will make it his headquarters, after we resurrect him and win the Second Blood War. It's only a matter of time, after all.

"Th' firs' years, Profess'r McGonogall," The giant of a man and Keeper of the Keys announced proudly, as if he had done any actual work.

"Very good, Hagrid." The Lions' Head of House inspected us with a stern eye, and judging by the frown on her face, found us lacking. "In just a moment, the Sorting will begin. There are four Houses..."

I ignored the Professor and instead inspected the other students. Draco kept up a veneer of arrogance, a look he pulled off quite well; I knew he was likely suffocating on the inside, though. Regulus and I may not really be the Malfoy's we claim to be, but we're pretty damn close. Most of these days I act like the twin sister towards Draco we tell the world that I am.

There was a bushy-haired girl, and with a single look I could tell that she was Muggleborn. She just... _radiated _it. I ignored her.

There was a pair of twins, both female, whom I didn't recognize. They were clutching each other like a lifeline, terrified out of their wits. Twin shrieks sounded from them as the ghosts passed through a wall, didn't spare a glance at us, and continued on. I ignored both of them.

There was someone I immediately recognized as part of the Weasley clan, judging by his... _vibrant_ hair and freckled face. There was an unattractive smudge of dirt on his nose. I ignored him.

There was a sandy-brown haired youth, with a curious curse scar on his forehead... oh, hells...

Neville Longbottom.

I forcefully tore my gaze away from the Chosen One. I dipped into an Occlumency trance, examining the memories I had of the last few moments and, with great precision, unraveled the lattice-work of emotions from the scene of _him _just standing there. I dropped out of the trance, mind now thankfully clear of the overwhelming rush of disgust I held for the Boy-Who-Lived.

I was still incapable of hatred, but what I _did_ feel was the closest I could get. If I had the opportunity, I would kill him and laugh doing it. I would hold no regrets.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and the crowd of us ambled, strode, or stumbled forwards. Luckily I, despite my inherent metamorph clumsiness, was one of the few walking with confident grace.

"Before we start, I would like to introduce our newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher: Auror First Class Kingsley Shacklebolt!" There was a round of polite applause; there's been an Auror in the Defense Master's position ever since the Dark Lord... disappeared. Preparations for the eventual war, no doubt. Oh well; they're training our side as well, the fools. "The rest will be declared before the meal. Let the Sorting begin!"

There was a song from the Sorting Hat, a rush of (mocking) applause, and a call of _"Abbott, Hannah!"_

And a moment later:

_"Hufflepuff!"_

And so it went on.

The niece of the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was sorted into Hufflepuff, which didn't surprise me. The bookish muggleborn was sorted into Gryffindor, which actually surprised me. And the Boy-Who-Lived was sorted to the Lions, with a confident stride and tilt to his chin.

They say the Chosen One has been training in the combat arts with Aurors since he turned seven years old. I heard a rumor that he'll be attending third year DADA lessons this term and, if he does well, fifth year DADA come '92. He's got a real talent for it, supposedly.

I'll have to speak with McGonogall about doing the same for Transfiguration. It'll be difficult; she doesn't much like Snakes, Uncle Sev says. But my Godfather has been whispering praise about me and my little brother into her ear for years. And I've already mastered the first two years of Transfiguration course work. Being a metamorph and having a wand dedicated to the art might also sway me into her favor.

I'll have to wait and see, I suppose.

_"Malfoy, Andromeda!"_

I stalked towards the Sorting Hat with all the grace I could summon. I was raised to be a proper pureblood princess; and I never had trouble performing under pressure. My sociopathic nature ensured that their opinions well and truly meant nothing to me.

I arrived, twisted, relaxed onto the stool, and the wide brim of the hat enveloped me.

_I wonder if the Hat has lice._

_**I most assuredly do not, Miss Black.**_

_How would you know? You're just a hat._

_**Because I'm magic, little girl. I'm quite positive I do not have lice.**_

_I think I'll take a long shower in the Slytherin dorms tonight regardless, Hat. Apropos, do you really need to look around my head? I am clearly headed to the Snake Pit._

_**You've done some dark things, girl. Maybe if I sort you into Gryffindor you will turn to the light?**_

A pause.

_You wouldn't._

_**Aye, what do I know? I'm just a hat...**_

_Precisely._

_**… And do whatever is best for the prospective underneath my brim. I care little for the world at large.**_

_And if you don't sort me in Slytherin, I'll burn you and this entire school to the ground._

_**I may be a hat, but I have a survival instinct all the same; it's been fun, Miss Black, but let's not do this again. I'll just place you in...**_

_** "SLYTHERIN!"**_

* * *

_**A/N: **There has already been ripples because of the change in prophecy content and common knowledge: Longbottom auror-trained; the Ministry gearing up for another war instead of denying it up 'til the Dark Tosser himself shows; the string of Auror DADA teachers; a unified force of Death Eaters waiting and searching for Riddlemort; a more combat-based Hogwarts curriculum..._

_As you can see, no Quirrell. Dumbledore has no need to lure Voldy out or test Longbottom, as the entire world knows about the Prophecy. There'll still be something going on, of that there is no doubt._


	3. The First Year: Orders From The Top

_**A/N:**__If this story has a different taste than my others, that's intentional. It's an exercise in a more high-handed writing style. Not sure if I like it or not, yet, or if it'll remain this way._

* * *

**Fall From Grace**

**by Whispers Of A Mad God**

**The First Year: Orders From The Top**

* * *

For all her heavy-handed teaching style and occasional psychopathic mood swings, Bellatrix Black is a highly trustworthy and affectionate person. Of course, her attitude is akin to night and day in regards to who she showers with said affection; as is only natural for the most feared serial murderer in Wizarding Britain. But to those who _have_ wormed their way into her heart and mind, there is no greater ally.

As Yaxley so adeptly taught me in his mastery lessons on the Imperious Curse, the human mind is governed by three forces: primal instinct; emotional drive; and rational thought. A healthy balance is a prerequisite to become what the wizarding populace believes to be _light_ or _sane. _What most don't understand is that _insane _is an incredibly nebulous term; for it doesn't matter which of the three forces is lacking, so long as one _is_ the human in question is regarded as such.

And this is precisely why my mother is considered by the vast, uncountable majority to be well and truly crazy. Because her emotional drive is off-kilter from the norm; unique, and _very, very high-strung._ This lead her to formulate an impressive amount of hatred towards all those she sees as threats to her family; her family being the blood relations who haven't, in her mind, betrayed her: namely, Andromeda Tonks for disregarding family values and marrying a muggleborn; Sirius Black, for standing against her beloved master the Dark Lord; the entirety of muggle-kind; and the proclaimed mud-bloods who have been slowly devouring magical culture over the last few hundred years. This hatred evolved into sadism, and enabled her to commit acts that are... _not spoken of_ in polite company.

But in no way was her rational mind affected by any of this. She was well and truly aware of _precisely_ what she was doing, when she was doing it. She had no delusions. Which is what terrifies Wizarding Britain so much, and drives them to delude themselves into thinking that _no, she can't be sane, because who in their right mind can do such things? _

Their logical answer?

_No one._

Therefore: _Bellatrix Black is clearly insane._ When the truth is, she's perfectly capable of rational thought and merely chooses to ignore it in favor of sadistic glee.

I, on the other hand, have the reverse affliction. It is still unclear whether I am naturally like this, or if it had been accidentally drilled into me growing up at Malfoy Manor's Death Eater Academy. Instead of a skewed and swelled emotional drive, I developed an apathy that extends to nearly everything in the entire world, wizarding or otherwise. Nothing affects me beyond amusement and annoyance.

Or rather, _almost _nothing. I share my mother's mania for protecting the family, and will gladly burn down the continent to appease a single relative. I also share her large reservoir of latent affection, which I unleash on them at any given opportunity. It drives Draco and Regulus up the wall, but they know better than to ask me to stop.

And so, when mother had given me a set list of instructions, I didn't hesitate or even comprehend the idea that I could deny her. For one, she'd crucio me for even daring to misconstrue my place in the family hierarchy. For two, I'd go to the ends of the earth to carry out her wishes regardless. And for three, I was planning on following a similar list _anyways._

One) Keep my identity as the daughter of Bellatrix Black and ex daughter of Lily and James Potter on the down low. Everyone in Wizarding Britain knew that I fit the bill for the prophesied one who will one day resurrect the Dark Lord. Revealing who I really am would get me killed, 'for the Greater Good' or by practically anyone really, Dark Houses notwithstanding.

Two) Make future allies for the Death Eaters among all houses and blood purities in preparation for the Second Blood War, as the Light has taken to calling the civil war that has yet to pass. Pureblood Supremacy may be _a_ rallying point for the revolution, but it is _not the only one. _There are Puffs, Claws, and Gryffs in the Death Eater ranks already, and a small number of muggleborn whose talent and ingenuity more than make up for their lack of inheritance (after all, their grandchildren won't be muggleborn. And we're very much in it for the long haul...). Especially sense pureblood lines have to start _somewhere,_ and it is a well enough known fact that muggleborn blood in a pureblood line evokes strong magicals: I'm a clear example of just such a thing.

Three) Rise to the upper echelon of the Slytherin pecking order. Obvious enough, that.

Four) Worm my way into the confidence of the Light, stringing them along with thoughts of my rebellion against the Blacks even though I have no desire to do so. The very thought brought a wicked smirk to my lips.

Five) Discover or create secret pathways into and out of the school, as well as the locations of the four common rooms, the ward room, the ritual room, and divine how to break into each. Mother believes that sooner or later we will stage an assault on Hogwarts, and while it is many years away yet, parsing out the _how_ will make the _when_ and the _what_ much, much easier.

And if I succeed in my efforts? Mother has promised me another pet. And there's something... _unique_ that I've _always_ wanted.

The very thought made me shudder with glee.

* * *

"Oi. Andromeda."

"Hmm?" I flicked a lock of glossy, raven hair behind my ear, turning slightly and eyeing Tracey Davis with a questioning gleam in my vibrant, lavender orbs. I knew this particular appearance transformed me into a dead ringer for my mother, Bellatrix Black, and that it thoroughly unnerved just about every adult in the castle: Twinkles included. But they couldn't _do_ anything about it; they had no ground to stand on. "Something catch your eye?"

"You could say that. There's a Hufflepuff staring at you – fourth or fifth year, I'm thinking. Kinda obvious about it. Purple hair, chewing on a quill. Chocolate brown eyes. Scratch that. Sea green eyes."

"Stop checking out my cousin, Davis," I admonished. Tracey choked, blood rushing to her cheeks. I smirked at her in amusement. "Her name is Nymphadora Tonks. Her mother, Andromeda Tonks nee Black, married a muggleborn wizard back before the last war. She was my mother's sister. Got blasted off the family tree for it, too." I shook my head. "And since my cousin was sorted into Hufflepuff, odds are slim I could convince her to defect from her parents and join my side of the family. Pity."

"You said her mother's name was Andromeda? Why name you after a blood traitor? It doesn't sound like something your family would do." Tracey questioned. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the Hufflepuff, before blushing – again – and turning back to me. "And I was _not _checking her out!"

"No one cares about your sexual orientation, Davis," I drawled. Tracey's blush deepened, mortified. I turned to Daphne, who was sitting next to me. "Do you care that Davis is a witch's witch, Greengrass?"

"Be rather hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?"

"See?" I asked, turning back to Davis. Her eyes were wide, unbelieving. "So long as you drink a lust potion and carry your husband's children, no one cares if you have a mistress on the side, female or otherwise. On the contrary, it's expected, if only to show that you can. Pureblood politics, and all that. If you don't, people will wonder if it's because you can't. That's not to say you should shout the fact from the Astronomy Tower, but still."

"Oh," Tracey murmured, blinking rapidly. She swallowed, shaking her head to clear it of current thoughts. "I'll bother you for details later. Now, about the naming business, Andromeda the Second?"

"Andromeda the Twenty-Second, actually, Davis. Something or other about redeeming the name and cleansing it of the taint my aunt infected it with. Mother was raw from her sister leaving the family, then having a child she named with Black family conventions. Kind of like salt in the wound, that." Which was true; Mother went off on a rampage in some muggle town when she found out, or so Aunt Cissy tells me. What my fellow Slytherins _don't_ know is that Bellatrix Black is my mother, not her.

"Okay, I can understand that," Tracey nodded. "But it looks to me like she has the same metamorph ability that you have. I thought you said it was rare?"

"It's an old Black family trait, which has laid dormant for... eight generations, or thereabouts. Her, my little brother Regulus, and I are the only ones with the talent in all of Wizarding Britain that I am aware of. I don't know why it has come around again now; it was a surprise all around." An outright lie; I know _exactly _how it happened.

I am, at my core, an inherently rational creature. I believe in pureblood supremacy because logic and data tells me that purebloods are superior, if not by magic, then by blood and resources. However, unlike my family – bless their hearts – I am not blind to the rest of the world. The fresh blood of muggleborn Ted Tonks brought the Black recessive trait of morphing to the forefront in their only child, Nymphadora. The same goes for me, with my 'original' parents; James Potter's mother Dorea was born a Black, giving him – and by extension, me – the recessive trait of morphing. Lily Potter nee Evans' muggleborn blood brought the talent to the surface.

Despite the blood adoption ritual Mother carried out when I was still a toddler, which in essence 'swapped' Lily's blood with her's (making me a pureblood), the morphing trait had already bound itself to my magical core. Perhaps the ritual even strengthened it, with more Black blood. And, because Mother had been pregnant with Regulus at the time, my morphing ability had spread to him. _That_ had been a happy side-effect no one had expected.

Either that, or Regulus' mysterious and unknown father wasn't as pure in blood as everyone assumed. I made sure never to vocalize _this_ theory, however.

"Are you ever going to talk to her? She has this... _look_ in her eyes," Tracey continued. "Like she _really, really_ wants to talk to you. I would understand if you don't, though."

"I'm not _allowed_ to talk to the 'blood traitor's mudblood spawn,' even had I wanted to," I pointed out airily. "Maybe had she been Sorted into Slytherin, or even Ravenclaw, or done _something, anything_ to differentiate herself from her parents, my family would be more open to it. But at this point, there is no chance in Hell."

"Maybe you could send her a note? You don't know where she stands, as of yet. If she's like every other Hufflepuff, you could cross her off your list of estranged family hopefuls and never give her a second thought. But if she wants to reconnect, give up her muggle-loving ways and all that, give her a chance. "

"Odd talk coming from a halfblood," I mused, eyeing Tracey with an amused visage on my normally cold and aristocratic features. She raised a good point though; in the eyes of my family, Nymphadora Tonks is guilty only by association. If she broke it off with her mother, the Blacks would accept her with open arms. (Provided she take the Mark, of course.

But there's no need to terrify the poor dear, is there? We can keep that little nugget of information secret, for now.)

"Shove it," Tracey scowled, crossing her arms. "My mother's blood has caused me no end of problems. I'm not nearly as excited to marry some random wizard as Greengrass is, especially since I'd be lucky to get a good match. And my odds of getting a decent job were shot down the drain the moment my father laid eyes on her. None of this makes me anywhere _close_ to happy."

_Note to self: approach Davis about potentially joining the Death Eaters once she's older. _I fought a smirk from transforming into a Cheshire grin. _All that pent-up rage and hatred... it's beautiful. Task Number Two just might be easier than I thought._

"Anyways. Write the bloody note, Malfoy."

"Of course," I whispered, pulling a slip of parchment from my satchel and snatching Greengrass' self-inking quill from behind her ear. I ignored her indignant cries, writing down my thoughts on the thick material.

_Sweet cousin,_

_ It is clear why you were not Sorted into the House of the Cunning. Your incessant staring has been attracting attention. I have been ordered by not only my Head of House, but my Mother to never speak to you. Do not make this more complicated than it needs to be. _

_ Meet me in the disused classroom directly adjacent to the library at half past eleven at night, on the Eighth of September. Come alone. Perhaps we can soothe waking dragons back to sleep._

_ Your cousin,_

_ Andromeda Malfoy._

"Works for me," Tracey remarked. She had been watching from across the table, reading the words upside down. "Am I coming with?"

"Does the thought of some other woman meeting up in secret after hours with your... _crush_ irritate you?" I wondered airily. Tracey blushed, turning away. "Perhaps not. She won't be as forthcoming if she had an audience, I don't think. But if she proves to be cast from a different mold than her mother, I can assuredly bring you along on our second midnight rendezvous. Assuming she even attends the first."

My eyes roamed the Great Hall, trying to divine who else could be approached. I had to be subtle, clever; a slow, growing friendship would yield more results than randomly popping the question _"would you kill and pillage for the Dark Lord?" _over afternoon tea. And not only would they need to be open to the idea, they must be a boon to the revolution. I refuse to recruit mediocre followers.

No, I want an inner circle of my own.

The question is, _who? _A difficult query to answer, especially when I'm looking for someone specifically with the cunning to hide their true motives from all and sundry. I'll have to recheck my personal grimoire, _Tricks and Talents of the Two-Tailed Fox,_ for any spells that might aid me in my efforts.

I wrapped the thick parchment into a tightly sealed roll, and tucked it into a fold of my robes. If I only knew the trick, I would've much preferred the technique the Ministry uses for inter-office communications. But, for all my skill with the Dark Arts, animating a paper airplane is beyond me. And, without the know-how required to disillusion it as well, doing so would nullify the 'secrecy' part of slipping her the note.

I'll just have to bump into her in the halls. Luckily for me, sleight-of-hand is one of the many skills taught at Malfoy Manor's Death Eater Academy. I was raised from birth to be the perfect weapon for the Dark Lord, and that includes non-magical techniques. What else would they teach me when I was too young to hold a wand, or comprehend the technical terms used in magical textbooks?

So I learned basic martial arts, stealth and critical thinking. What use is combat magic if I'm too tired to cast them? What use are complex invisibility potions and silencing charms if I'm too clumsy to utilize them? What use is all the power in the world if I apply it blindly?

That's not to say I'm going to forsake magic and fight the muggle way. But there's a certain skill-set of dueling techniques that incorporates martial arts, and learning them will drastically raise my expected lifespan. We're preparing for _war,_ after all, and nothing will get in the way of that: not even misplaced pureblood pride. After all, why conjure a shield when I can evade the spell entirely? It's more magically efficient, and gives me additional time to unleash a precision counter-strike. And if I'm disarmed of both my phoenix feather and Cassiopeia Black's wand, a hidden dagger will kill as assuredly as an _Avada Kedavra._

It only takes a single Killing Curse or a slice to the throat to snuff out the light of even the greatest of wizards, after all.

* * *

"Hmm, before I forget, Andi. Can I call you Andi? What're these Laws Greengrass was going on about on the Express? Sounds like something I should be aware of. I'd like to survive the school year, thank you very much."

I blinked; _we meet yesterday, and already she speaks to me so familiarly. _It was... disconcerting. Death Eaters I've known my entire life don't speak to me in such a way. Those who do are tagged with an Uncle or an Aunt to their names in return, and thus are irrelevant. But this halfblood girl...?

Only Regulus calls me Andi. _Only him._ Those who don't refer to me as Heiress Black or Scion Malfoy name me Dromeda. Apparently, my blood traitor aunt goes by Andi, and I'm supposed to differentiate myself from her as much as I can. _And I always follow orders. _It's in my nature.

"If you need to call me by a familiar moniker... not Andi. Dromeda, if you must." I wasn't going to say 'please:' _Blacks don't beg. _"And there are eight Laws. They're listed above the fireplace; you know, _right in the center of the common room._ Were you not listening when Uncle Sev lectured at us last night, Davis?"

"Uncle Sev?" She inquired, raising an eyebrow. She really was quite beautiful; not a classic beauty like Greengrass, but her inky black hair and deep, forest green eyes were not to be ignored. "And no, I was far too busy attempting to stay awake. I nearly fell asleep on Daph's shoulder. And I'm sure you could explain a few things to me."

"Yes, he's my godfather." _Lie: Sirius Black is my godfather still, but the muggle-lover is in Azkaban. Wonder if he'll side with us if we were to set him up with a trial, or break him out? A decade surrounded by Dementors, who wouldn't shuffle their beliefs a bit? If he's still sane, that is. Food for thought, anyways. _"I suppose. Got nothing better to do."

I closed my grimoire, which had been a Hogwarts present from Uncle Cius and Aunt Cissy, and watched as the letters and runes scrambled themselves, magically gliding around on the cover. They stilled, and, embossed on the front in what appeared to be shining, Slytherin silver on a field of dark green were the words:

_~ Tricks and Talents of the Two-Tailed Fox ~_

_Noble Grimoire and Keeper of Secrets_

Although, no one but me and those I designate could read the words themselves, or unlatch the clasp. Grimoires are inherently different from tomes; it's a bit like comparing Malfoy Manor to the Burrow, actually. Both are designed to do the same thing, but the first is far more lavish, expensive, and arcane.

A grimoire is the result of a complex blood ritual, one of three legalized by the British Ministry – alongside the Familiar Bonding Ritual and another Uncle Cius claims I'm still to young for. A witch or wizard can only have a single grimoire bound to them, but having more than one is unnecessary. For books, journals, tomes, maps, markings, charcoal engravings, anything can be directly copied to a witch's personal grimoire with a flick of a wand. Only the witch and those she allows can read the words of a personal grimoire for as long as she draws breath, unless it was passed down in a will.

There were other benefits to a grimoire, despite being a complete compendium of everything I know. But that's for a later date.

What struck my curiosity, however, was the name mine had chosen. Just like the wand chooses the witch, the grimoire chooses its moniker. And since when have I been a two-tailed fox?

"The First Law," I began, shrugging off my musings. I didn't have enough to create a testable hypothesis, at the moment. Will give it a solid thinking later. I resumed stroking the pseudo-invisible chameleon snake wrapped around my left forearm with soft, soothing motions. "_Always maintain a unified front._ As Greengrass mentioned yesterday; doubt we need to go over it again.

"The Second Law: _Problems within the House, stays within the House. _There's an unspoken addendum to refrain from speaking to the Head of House, too; snitching will kill your fledgling reputation faster than Lockhart at a press event. This is the house of the survivors, so adapt or die.

"The Third Law: _Refrain from dark magick. _Since Hogwarts is technically sovereign land, in the past the Dark Arts weren't punishable. And since the Hogwarts wards block the Trace on our wands, there was no way to determine if the Dark Arts were used. Now, though, with the Chief Warlock as our Headmaster, using blatantly illegal magic in a realm where he is basically omniscient is just foolish. You'd deserve to get expelled for being caught.

"The Fourth Law: _Don't get caught._ It lists a bit more, but basically, this House is a training ground for the political field. Doing illegal things is kind of expected, so long as you get away with it. You need to if you want to pass any of your own legislation, or achieve a senior position.

"The Fifth Law: _Respect the chain of command. _This one's more of a guideline or a survival tip than anything, really. Don't irritate your superiors. You don't really need to worry about this one, though, so long as you don't do anything idiotic."

"Why's that, Dromeda?"

"Because everyone knows you're on my side," I explained, smirking wickedly. I licked my lips in excitement. "And no one wants me as an enemy."

Tracey laughed. "I know the Malfoys are rich and all, Dromeda, but aren't you taking it a bit too far?"

"It has very little to do with the Malfoy name, Davis," I informed her slyly. "I have an... acquaintance... who will ensure everyone... cooperates."

Tracey's face lit up in joy. "Are we doing something illegal? _Wonderful! _Maybe we should bring Daph along? Oh, what do you have planned?"

"Nothing illegal. Well, maybe a little bit. But no one will snitch.

"That I can guarantee."

* * *

"Complete the following three chapters in the textbook _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by _Emeric Switch _for next week's course. Continue to practice wood-to-metal and metal-to-wood simple-point transfigurations. Class dismissed. Miss Malfoy, stay after for a moment."

I blinked; a moment later, I recalled why Professor McGonogall would want to speak to me. I smiled softly, the perfect portrayal of relief and nervous excitement. She was still eying me, after all, attempting to divine my nature or some such. Years of practice acting and a tight control over my rampant metamorphmagus talent was more than enough to fool her, though. _I have to play this just right. I won't have another chance._

I shook Tracey off with a smile and a wave of my hand and stored my parchment, quills, and ink in the expanded space of my rustic satchel. Last I latched the clasp to my personal grimoire and packed it into the bag carefully. As the last of the students trickled out, I rose gracefully from my desk. Rounding the tables, I slowly walked over to McGonogall's stern profile, before tripping over the leg of a nearby desk and tumbling haphazardly to the floor.

_"Eep!" _I yelped, leaping back up to my feet. I forced my talent to blush in mortification, as I nearly collapsed – again – on the desk chair I was leaning against. I laughed nervously, tucking a lock of snowy-white hair behind an ear. My eyes morphed from sea green to a deep, royal blue, as I attempted to regain my calm before continuing the trek over to the Head of the Lion's House. (After all, I can't speak with her looking like my usual clone of a youthful Bellatrix Black.

She would have a heart attack. I'm not supposed to know her.)

"Sorry," I whispered, willing the blood rushing to my cheeks to calm. I gathered myself together. "It's part of being a metamorph, I suppose. The clumsiness, I mean. Professor."

"It's quite alright," the Professor acknowledged, expression softening. _What do you know? Yaxley's tip worked. Public embarrassment plus shy apology equals a softer, more leniant Deputy Headmistress. After all, how could I – the girl who tripped over a chair – be any kind of threat, Slytherin or not? _"There's a girl three years your senior with the same trait. Your cousin, I believe?"

"Yeah, she is," I admitted, voice still low. _Clever. She wants to know my stance, considering I'm a Malfoy and a Snake. By acknowledging a banished member of the Family, I'm stating I'm against their views. By denying it, I'm therefore with them. Only one thing to do, then. _"I haven't met her. Mother says I'm not allowed. I don't want to anger my Head of House, either."

"I understand," Professor McGonogall mused, reevaluating her assessment of me. "However, she did not request what you are asking me to do. It's never been done before, you understand. Independent study, yes. Not this."

"But it _is_ being done now, for another student. And I assume you have just received my exam results?" I waited. After a moment, she nodded. "I don't want to waste my time _or_ yours. I'd be a distraction in your class. I would only satiate my need for advanced work without a proctor, if you deny me." A pause. "Probably during class," I teased lightly. Which was out of character for me to do so with someone I don't know, but _I need this, damn it! Nemesis, I beg of thee, lend me your aid!_

"Tell me," she began, ignoring my spiel and prayer both. "How is it a first year mastered three years of curriculum?"

"When I was younger, my metamorphmagus ability was out of control," I admitted demurely. If there was anything I was used to being, it was subservient. Family or not, Death Eaters are harsh. "I would shift constantly, even in my sleep. Made it impossible to ever go out, and the magic used would tire me constantly. A metamorph is the incarnation of Transfiguration magic, you see. And it was all focused inwards. In an attempt to make the magic focused _inwards_ change tack and flow _outwards, _Father gave me the wand of Cassiopeia Black to unleash the raw transfiguration magic. I had to practice almost constantly to get the magic under control enough to maintain an appearance for any length of time. Even now, it runs away from me when I get even a little bit emotional."

"And I'd be showing favoritism, allowing one of my Lions this... privilege, but not doing the same for a Slytherin?" She cut to the point. I smirked in reply. "Considering you aced all three: the theoretical; the written; and the practical... I can't really deny you. I will allow it. On one condition."

"Anything," I breathed. _Did it really work? I'm through?_

"You will be my T.A. You will help me grade papers, clean the classroom, organize my classes, tutor the younger students... Is this acceptable, Miss Malfoy?"

"Of course," I smiled; a true, happy smile. I had been ordered to get close to a Light sider, and who better than Professor McGonogall, Head of the House of Lions?

"Then, Miss Malfoy, let me be the first to welcome you to my Fourth Year Transfiguration course."

_Oh, wonderful! _I thought, a great weight lifting off my shoulders. _Pity I will have to betray her someday. But is it really a betrayal if I never planned to actually watching her back?_

* * *

"A part of me didn't think you would show up," I drawled, Slytherin ice mask firmly in place. I ignored the confused emotions roiling around my mind. She was a stranger, but a relative: my sociopathic and obsessive compulsive tendencies didn't know whether to sort her as an irrelevant stranger or a potential... friend? Family member? Someone important. My usual shallow amusement was barely covering the _powerful, needy yearning_ I felt for affection. But that would scare off a potential... ally. "Why did you, if I may ask?"

"Mum might'a been kicked off the Tree, but I was still raised a Black. Awful name an' all." She declared, marching into the room. I ignored her, walking right back out of it. She blinked, before turning and following me. "Blacks look out for their own."

_"Nymphadora?_ You really do have rotten luck, don't you?" I mused aloud, immensely enjoying her blush and prepare an angry retort. "Now now, _Nymphadora_ dear, we're in the halls after dark. Let's not attract any... _unwanted_ attention."

"Ah..." Her rebuke died in her throat as she was told off by an eleven year old. I felt vaguely guilty, but ignored the feeling in favor of the amusement I was deriving from it. "Where are we going, anyways? Not going to jump me and leave me somewhere for Filch to find, are ya?"

"Silly Hufflepuff," I _tsk_ed. "If I was going to do that, I would've had Filch lying in wait in that classroom. I'd be cackling madly back in my nice, warm dorm room. Thanks for the idea, though. I'll have to try that one out on the Gryffs sometime. No. I'm here to show you an... artifact."

"Artifact?" Her eyes narrowed. "I thought you wanted to talk about the family."

"I do, I do. But I need to know what _really_ matters to you to do so." I shook my head, turning a corner and leading her down to the room in question. I chose to take the blunt route. "Look, I don't agree that An... Aunt Andromeda should have been blasted off the Tree. She married a muggleborn wizard? I don't care if she married a centaur. Whoop-de-doo. Family is family. Nothing short of matricide should get you kicked out of it. Thing is, _I_ don't get a say in these things. And I rather like my family, idiotic as they may be at times. Ah. Here we are."

I lead her into a smallish, darkened room. A flick of my wand and an incantation of _"Secundo Solem"_ and a small werelight flickered into existence in the center of the room. I strode confidently inside, leading my estranged cousin to a large, ornate mirror. I looked in, ignored the image I saw, and turned to the shifter.

"Take a look'see, dearest cousin." I ignored her mutterings of _"just Tonks, really" _and watched her as she maneuvered in front of the mirror. I saw the expected gasp and stifled a smirk at the unexpected string of expletives. I allowed her a half minute to just stare, caught in its allure. At last, I spoke, my voice little more than a whisper, respecting the privacy of this moment. "What do you see?"

"I see myself..." Her voice caught. She swallowed. "Celebration party for, for becoming an Auror at last. You know what those parties are like. Lots of stuffy Ministry personnel, everyone making connections and ignoring the purpose of the gig in the first place. But," she blinked, eyes dilating and shining a pure lavender. "But my parents are there. And they look damned proud."

I could extrapolate the rest from there. Nymphadora Tonks, ridiculed for her name, clumsy to a fault. Sorted into a House both her parents scoffed at. No extended family who would see her on either side. Her parents are among the wealthiest attorneys in the Wizarding World, but they don't expect much from their daughter. Likely ignored at home – would explain the bubbly personality. Like the flip side to my ice facade.

_Imagine that. Maybe Tracey Davis was right about her crush. _I thought, feeling tired. I smiled lightly, unsure of how to comfort someone I don't know. With Draco or Regulus I gave them a tackle-hug, but... _Looks like I might be able to turn this one to our side after all._

"The mirror shows you what you want... what you truly want. You realize that, don't you?"

"Yeah." She swallowed, tearing her gaze away from the artifact. She looked embarrassed at having told me, a stranger, so much. But such is the magic behind the mirror, I suppose. "Um. So. What do you see, cousin?"

"Me? I see myself surrounded by venomous serpents and drenched in the blood of my enemies."

The frightening statement delivered in a dry tone ripped a strangled laugh from Tonks, effectively shattering the tension. She walked away from the mirror, eyeing me with an amused look. "None of that, cuz. I know you're sweet as a teddy bear on th' inside. Don't go playing the Ice Queen with cousin Tonks, or I'll set you straight!"

I smirked, and my eyes shone when my familiar spotted two intruders from his lookout hideaway nearing us. He utilized the familiar bond to allow me to see through his eyes, and I recognized the infamous Weasley Twins immediately.

_Options, options... a) wait around and greet them like old friends, b) book it and try to avoid their ministrations, c) ditch Tonks and make her a diversion, but if I do that she'll be a) incredibly irate with me, and an angry shifter is a dangerous shifter and b) I'm trying to earn her camaraderie, damn it!_

"Weasley Twins incoming," I whispered, extinguishing the werelight with a muttered _"Nox Solem" _and dragging my new second-favorite cousin into the shadows of the corner behind the doorway. I stilled, hoping against hope for complete silence.

"...auders' Map never lies, Fred! He's here, somehow! I just don't know, you know, _how."_

"Think his ghost found its way to Hogwarts, George? Only thing I can think of. Either that, or the Map's cursed."

"Impossible. Map is infallible." A pause. "Think we should ask Dumbledore? I mean, this is _big,_ Fred. His death is a big mystery. And why's his ghost only showing up now? Do toddlers even have ghosts?"

"I don't know. Christ. No, can't tell Dumbledore. He'd ask how _we_ know and confiscate the Map. Do you remember anything about the news' reports? I mean, he was the alternate prophecy kid."

"No. Wait. Yes, they never found a body! That's it!"

"How's that it? That _dis_proves the ghost theory. It means he's still alive, right? Harry Potter is still alive?"

My blood stilled.

_Oh shit, oh shit. Prometheus on wings of flame, save me from this fire..._

"But if Longbottom is the 'vanquisher' or whatnot, that means Harry Potter is the 'resurrecter?' Right? Damn it Fred, this is more important than the Map! You-Know-Who, man!"

"Argh... let's think about it. What's it matter to us, anyways? You remember what the Hat said."

_No, I don't remember what the Hat said. Please continue?_

_ Maybe Task Number Two is a whole lot easier than I expected it to be..._

"... It's too late for this. Hey, what's with this mirror?"

"Looks magic, brother of mine."

"We are in a magic school, dearest twin."

"I had no idea, Gred! Imagine that."

"Maybe it grants wishes, Forge? What do you wish for?"

_They do this when no one's around, too? Holy hell._

_ At least life's not boring for them. To each their own._

"I see us in a certain store..."

"... Bunch of bustling, faceless customers..."

"... And who's that handsome man behind the counter?"

"Damn, George, lookin' good!"

"You too, Fred, behind the trinket stand!"

"What should we call this fine establishment of ours?"

"It must be grand! Bigger and better than Zonko's, the King!"

"Really think we can do it, Freddiekins? It'll be tough. Not like the other Weasleys will be any help."

"Who needs 'em. It's all 'Ron and Ginny this', 'Ron and Ginny that,' anyways. Blurgh. So what, you're the best mate of the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Aye. The Survivor's a right ponce."

"Even Gin-Gin's starting to see reason. She's much too clever to..."

_They. Must. Join. I'd never sleep through a Death Eater meeting again!_

_ Now, about that Map..._

A silencing spell and a summoning charm later, I'm one Map richer. Which, incidentally, is the perfect way to complete Task Number Five _and_ meet up with the Twins...

Once the enigmatic Weasley Twins left, it was just my dearest cousin and I. She blinked at me owlishly, still a mite confused from the whole ordeal. I nodded my head sagely at her.

"Tis' true. Longbottom's a ponce."

* * *

_**A/N: **This isn't a bashing fic. Longbottom will be arrogant, yes, but he's a Defense prodigy who took out Voldewhore before he could walk and talk. Yeah, it's going to go to his head a bit. He's James Potter with the reputation to match. And Tonks is my second-favorite character in the entire series, behind only Trixie herself, and narrowly surpassing Lovegood. So I'm claiming artistic license and giving her a lonely childhood, so she could connect better with Dromeda. And I can totally see Molly ignoring the Twins to focus on her youngest son, best mate of the boy-who-lived. Can't blame her, no matter how much I want to; its just her nature. And Ron and Ginny are victims of childhood indoctrination. "We are the sum of our past experiences..." So no long rants about bad!whomever._

_(I actually have plans for Longbottom come book four... speaking of, my premise has basically butterfly-effected away the canon' conflict in books one, two, and three, so expect the unexpected and all that.)_

_(Nymphadora Tonks, in this AU, is a couple years younger; I have her as a Fourth Year, making her Cedric's yearmate. She is the only character in this story who will be age-regressed.)_


	4. The First Year: A Rat Among The Snakes

_**A/N: **Any mistakes, whether grammatically, canonically, or rationally, I am thus unaware of. I have no beta, after all. Point them out to me and I promise not to bite your head off. Cheers._

* * *

**Fall From Grace**

**by Whispers Of A Mad God**

**The First Year: A Rat Among The Snakes**

* * *

"Has it been lonely without me here, Mother?"

"Dreadful," Bellatrix Black murmured absentmindedly, not paying the conversation any heed. Likewise, she ignored the priceless hundreds of exquisite and foreign dishes, leaning forward in her high-back wooden chair. Not even the twenty-odd Death Eaters surrounding the rectangular table could attract her attention, though that wasn't much of a surprise. Her long fingers stroked through my raven locks as I melted into her lap, and she cooed and petted me like a particularly favored pet. "There's been nothing to do, nothing at all. I was beginning to get bored. Was planning on taking a survey of some of the warding of the more well-known blood traitor's houses, but then Lucius calls this meeting." She licked her lips. "He better have a good reason for calling you out of school on a Sunday night. Not that I mind, little nightingale, but he ought to know better."

"It's quite alright, Mother. It works out well in the end; I wanted to update you on my Tasks but didn't know how to write it all down." Mother and I use an old war trick for near-instant, reliable communication. House elves could bypass Hogwarts wards without any trouble, and by using one of the Malfoy elves keyed into the Manor there's no chance of getting a message intercepted. "I've made progress on all five. Some I would like your advice on, however."

"Hmm?" She hummed, still threading her fingers through my glossy hair. She began to weave the kinky strands into a low braid, leaving my bangs to frame my face.

"The First Task, keeping my identity hidden, has been incredibly easy. I suspect there'll be no difficulties with this one, as the only wizard in the school who knows my real name is Draco, and if he isn't trustworthy, no one is. Although, the Weasley Twins were in possession of a Map of Hogwarts that lists the residents of the castle; my... _ex-moniker_ was listed there. They are unaware the name relates to me. I have stolen it, but haven't been able to crack the protective enchantments; I know little about that branch of magic.

"The Second Task, recruitment, I have already laid the groundwork for. As a First Year I can only socialize with those in my year or the two years above, at least until Second Year where I can try out for the Quidditch Team; doing so will improve my standing drastically. However, most of the Slytherins not already related to a Death Eater are quite clear with their beliefs, so I've had to watch for the other houses; a trial made ever more difficult by their blind, if accurate, distrust for the Snakes. Perhaps it would have been easier if I was Sorted into Ravenclaw, but I didn't want to lose any credibility amongst our own forces.

"Tracey Davis has a surprising amount of hatred for muggles, mudbloods, and even other halfbloods; I believe she is already a sympathizer, despite coming from a Grey House. I can make a guarantee that she'll take the Mark once she graduates, although that is still seven years away. Perhaps, through her, I can reach her two elder Slytherin brothers.

"Surprisingly enough, I overheard the Weasley Twins speak of a similar matter when they thought they were alone. They are both purebloods, and while their parents are blood traitors, they cannot be faulted for that. They showed resentment towards their family, and I believe with the proper influences they can be steered to our side... which would give us two pairs of ears within the Light; they are also quite clever, more so than I think anyone realizes.

"Also... Mother, I was approached by Nymphadora Tonks."

Bella's fingers involuntarily scrunched up, grating against my cranium and inflicting a sudden, sharp spike of pain. Although it was uncomfortable, I had an impressive yet necessary tolerance for the sensation; I hardly noticed it. I twisted around on her lap, placing each knee on either side of her, and begin to thread my fingers through her curtain of raven hair. A moment later her hands resumed carding through my thick locks. "What did the mudblood want, hmm?"

"Quite the opposite, actually. I don't think she realizes it, but she yearns for her parents' affection: affection they are denying her. With the necessary vague prompting, I might be able to transform that desire into resentment. And as Yaxley likes to say, resentment oh-so-easily turns to hatred. It'll be difficult, but I think it is possible we may turn her to our side. All we have to do is open our arms and give her a place to turn to. With your permission?"

"Granted," Bellatrix purred. The thought of stealing away the daughter of her traitorous sister Andromeda was clearly endearing itself to her. The fact that the Fourth Year is a Black who has done nothing wrong other than be born to faulty parents is also important; mudblood or no, a Black is a Black. And having all three British metamorphs in the employ of the Death Eaters? Icing on the cake.

"I'll keep an eye out for other potentials. The Third Task, essentially becoming the Slytherin Princess, is working without a flaw. My goal wasn't to rise to the top of the chain of command; it was to step outside of it completely, and earn the respect of everyone.

"It began when a Third Year by the name of Adrian Pucey attempted to... displace me from my position seated in a chair by the fire. When I told him in no uncertain terms that I would _not_ relinquish my perch, he stated very loudly that he would teach me my place. Naturally, this garnered the attention of the entire Common Room. Still, I did not back down.

"In the idiot's defense, he did not recognize me as a Malfoy, else he would've chosen a lower ranked First Year to attack. No one ever does, unless they see me shifting or have the faces of all the _other_ First Years' memorized, and can thus eliminate the other students on the list. But when he realized who I was, it was too late to back down without losing face.

"When he attempted to forcibly remove me from the chair, he found his route barred by a livid, four-foot-long Kaiser. Being a chameleon snake, no one had noticed her. She wrapped around the stunned elder student, but when she moved to strike I admonished her. _'No killing the Slytherins,' _I tell her. In parseltongue, naturally. Curious how everyone seemed so surprised by that fact."

"Beautiful!" Bella commended, giggling into my hair. "Tell me, little nightingale, what happened after?"

"Well, Pucey's allies were not pleased at his _very_ public embarrassment at the hands of a First Year. They conveniently forgot that Pucey had started the little contest. I had several _serpensortia_ summoned snakes positioned around the room, and they were able to tell me precisely who had been angered rather than amused by the way events played out. So, instead of being reactionary and waiting to be attacked by older, more experienced students, I decided to strike first.

"That night, each of Pucey's allies and the fool himself woke up to find conjured vipers slithering all over them. Snakes bound their wrists to the headboards; snakes bound ankles together; snakes nibbled at ripe flesh and chewed through sheets. They were unable to reach their wands and, naturally, I had silencing wards up around each bed. They all seemed rather paranoid and jittery the next day."

_Maybe I should tell this story to the Twins; approaching them as a pranking apprentice rather than a Slytherin with dubious ulterior motives would likely bear more fruit,_ I thought, smiling warmly at the beautiful sound of my dear mother's laughter. Nothing made me more happy than my family._ There's a fine line between well-meaning pranks and vindictive attacks, and I can urge them down the darkening one-way path. They would never see it coming. And if they refuse... well. The practice would do me good, either way._

"Hmm. Anyways, Fourth Task: endearing myself to the Light wizards. I've aced the Transfiguration tests I took at the Ministry; McGonogall was impressed. I think she's beginning to like me. I'm her Teacher's Assistant now, and I've been promoted to Fourth Year Transfiguration. A very nice start, on that front. I'm curious if it'll garner me the respect or the scorn of the Ravenclaws. Although, I need your permission to purchase the proper textbooks.

"The Fifth Task is what I really wanted your help for. I believe that the Map I stole from the Twins lists secret passageways on it, but I haven't been able to crack the code, so to speak. However, upon attempting to do so the Map taunted me: the names Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs appeared. I recognized the second as the Death Eater who helped you kill off my... _original_ relatives. Could you contact him for instructions as to the usage of the Map?"

"Mm-hmm," Bella hummed, twirling her wand absently. She pressed the tip to her skull before lowering it and murmured the incantation, _"Expecto Patronum."_ A moment later, a translucent crow erupted from the tip of the wood and soared through a nearby wall. (The technique is one of many our spies ruthlessly stole from the Order of the Phoenix during the last war. Despite being Light magic, power is power.) A moment later, a scrawny house elf appeared.

"Mister Wormy says the words being used are," and here Dobby dropped into a fair representation of the Death Eater's voice. _"'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.' _And if you wants to be resetting it, _'mischief managed.' _He also says the Prongses is Jameses Potter, the Moony is Remus Lupin, and the Padfoot is..." the elf swallowed thickly. "Sirius Blacks. They is animaguses: stag, werewolf, doggie, mouse._" _The elf bowed low, before hurriedly popping away with a near-silent _crack._

"Sirius Black," my mother whispered, for whatever reason thinking of my godfather fondly. "Azkaban changes a person. Do you think, precious one, that perhaps the blood traitor can find his way back home? He's got nothing to live for, after all. If we were to give my dearest cousin a cause to root for...?"

"I heard he was a powerful duelist, Mother." Her fingers slipped lower and caressed my cheek; I leaned into the affectionate touch, humming happily. All masks come down around my mother; I'll never be particularly emotional, but I'm not sculpted from ice. At least, not _all the time. _"And his name is feared across all of Wizarding Britain. I think he feels betrayed that none of the allies he fought with or for have given him the benefit of the doubt, or asked for so much as a trial. Then again, we haven't either, but he _is _still the enemy. For the moment, at least."

"I'll bring it up with Lucius," Bella mused. She placed a soft kiss to my cheek. "We can set up a visitation, little nightingale, maybe strike a deal with him. We'll get him out, and he'll serve the Dark Lord. Maybe tell him that you're still alive and working with us; _after_ we swear the muggle-lover to secrecy, of course."

"Thank you, Mother," I yawned, resting my head against her shoulder. I closed my eyes, currently a vibrant shade of lavender in imitation of her, and tucked an errant lock of thick, raven hair behind an ear. A second yawn racked my body; it was nearing midnight, and I've been up since yesterday morning at the crack of dawn, having skipped rest to prepare for my meet-and-greet with Tonks and then spent the remaining hours attempting to unlock the secrets of the Marauders' Map.

Some time later, a clinking sound echoed across the Dining Hall and the assorted Eaters' stilled, turning towards the head of the table. Uncle Cius rose to his feet, pressing the palms of his hands against the table as he spoke. "My Lords and Ladies, kindred spirits and allies all, our ten-year vigil is at last coming to a close. Ever since the tragedy that occurred on the first night of Samhain, when our Dark Lord disappeared, we have engaged in a cold war with the forces of the Light.

"We have also scoured the ends of the earth, searching for our Lord and Master. Where tracking charms and dark rituals have failed us, diligence and coordination have served us. We've searched from the Americas to Russia, to Madagascar to Australia, and back to the Americas again. For ten long years we have searched and searched for our Dark Lord.

"And several weeks ago, in a dark and dreary forest in Albania, we have found Him. May I welcome one of our own, Jericho Avery Jr."

Across the great table, Avery stood up. His black cloak was long and regal, the mark of the Death Eaters stitched in Slytherin green and invisible to all but those who have sworn themselves to the cause. His hood was up, casting an unnatural shadow across his face. He turned on his heels so that he faced away from us, and in a single fluid movement, dropped the hood of his cloak.

The crimson-eyed face of the Dark Lord gazed right at us, affixed to the back of Avery's skull.

And began to speak.

* * *

Occlumency is not only the Mind Art related to the protection of one's self, but a valuable skill with uses in various stressful or academic situations.

The mind, whether invaded by a Legilimens or defended by an Occlumens, is a complex and multi-layered thing. It can be likened to a great, wide tapestry, bound in threads from the moment of inception and weaving itself longer and longer for every hour of life. Some threads are auditory, some visual, some carrying an imprint of touch, smell, or taste, some the recollections of surface thought, others from the vast collection of unique emotions. All these individual strands come together to weave a tapestry that contains every day in a person's life, complete with all the subtle details.

(My mind was... incomplete, however. For years the thread representing hatred has been severed; the price I must pay to reclaim it is far too high for me to pay. Irregardless. We all have our crosses to bear.)

Of course, the memory reel is far too massive for most humans, magical or otherwise, to acquire the skill known as 'total recall.' Merely attempting to develop this elusive talent has led many Occlumens to insanity or an early grave.

Rather, Occlumency is the art of obscuring these memories and protecting them from enemy influences, both internal and external: Legilimens; love, lust, hate, rage, and other such potions; compulsions; the march of time; memory charms; mental disorders; pain; and anything else that can affect the consistency, alacrity, or privacy of the mind.

A Legilimens, when initiating contact, always first connects with the forefront of the memory reel; they can hear current conscious thought and feel their emotions. After that, they can skim through or 'experience' the memories of their target, either by looking through their life chronologically or feeding the mind a term (whether it be a word, a place, a smell, a color...) and parsing out what relative thoughts and memories the mind comes up with. A skilled Legilimens can also affect these memories, by either removing current threads or adding new ones, either unraveling a memory charm or planting a compulsion, thereby changing the very nature of the enemy. They can force the target to relive their own memories; relive the Legilimens' memories; and, with great care and skill, communicate silently.

Occlumency blocks this by wrenching control of the memory reel from the Legilimens. I can obscure some threads or entire sections of my life from being viewed. I can also force the attacker to relive awful memories, thereby forcing them to retreat. Also, as a Legilimens myself, I can invade their mind in this moment of opportunity; a door opened can be entered either way.

This control can be used to 'correct' abnormalities in the memory reel caused by potions, compulsions, memory charms, and the like. It can also be used to surgically rewire the mind: such as when I used it to 'cut' the threads pertaining to disgust and bloodlust the first time I saw the Electus, the Chosen One, Neville Longbottom. Doing so is a temporary, magically exhausting thing; once my mind was cleared, I replaced the strands of emotion.

And so it is because of Occlumency, because I have cut off the emotions known as despair and cold rage, that I can lie peacefully on Draco's four-poster Slytherin-themed bed in his dorms at Hogwarts without leaping to my feet and murdering the first unlucky fellow I come across in a fit of Black family cruelty and sadism.

"Dromeda? What happened at the Manor? Severus won't say anything."

_"Muffliato," _I incanted, using one of Uncle Sev's personal charms. I waved Draco over, shuffling backwards further into the canopy of his bed. When he kneeled on the mattress next to me, I closed the curtains, applying a second silencing charm to it, along with an unbreakable charm, a parseltongue locking charm, and an unmovable charm. I twisted around, leaning against Draco's chest and closing my lavender eyes.

"Alright?" Draco murmured, pulling me closer and wrapping his arms around me.

"Around midnight Sunday, yesterday, Uncle Cius gave an announcement. They found the Dark Lord. Avery Jr. was playing vessel, and he... the Dark Lord... he spoke to us."

"That's great!" Draco laughed, looking down at me. He frowned. "Right?"

"It _was_ great. Everyone was happy, and the Dark Lord commended us for sticking together and searching for him. It was the beginning of our fight back against the Light. But then..." I sighed. "Then, Uncle Cius felt the wards go down, only to be replaced by anti-apparition and anti-portkey jinxes. They even shut the Floo down. There was a column of phoenix flame, and suddenly none other than Professor Shacklebolt, an Unspeakable by the name of Croaker, and Twinkles himself appears on our dining table."

"... Oh." Draco mumbled. "Bloody hell."

"Exactly. There's a rat, somewhere in our ranks. Don't know where. I mean, the Manor is under the Fidelius, Dray! ...Anyways, there were twenty of us, adults and war-hardened veteran Death Eaters, and I was the only one there without combat experience. But they had surprise on their side, while we were mostly drunk and half-asleep. It would have been a slaughter, had they not been choosing to capture us alive instead."

"Who made it?"

"I don't know. Avery was killed, fell over dead the moment the Dark Lord left his vessel. Goyle Sr. was murdered in the crossfire; doubt the Aurors would be using the _Avada Kedavra. _They captured Alecto Carrow, Yaxley, Pettigrew, Crabbe Sr., Nott Sr., and, ah," I swallowed. "Uncle Cius."

I felt Draco clench his fingers. I ignored the pain.

"They captured some others as well, but I didn't see who. I know for a fact Barty got away, Macnair and Rookwood too. Mother didn't fight; she grabbed me and we fled up the stairs. I could tell she didn't want to, and likely wouldn't have if I hadn't been there. Uncle Sev came with. I don't think any of the attackers saw me; I was faced away from them, and Mother spun and ran the moment spells started flying. We found Aunt Cissy and Regulus on the top floor in the playroom, grabbed them and escaped through a secret passageway. It took us underground, and we followed it until we were clear of the anti-apparition jinx. Mother, Aunt Cissy, and Regulus are hiding out at that inn-slash-fence in Nocturne Alley we own, _The Drunken Falcon. _Uncle Sev took me here and fed me a temporary poison, so I was laid up in the Hospital Wing and no one could connect my disappearance with the Death Eaters."

"Anything else?" Draco whispered, and I didn't need to Legilimize him to know he's Occluding his more volatile emotions.

"Uh-huh. The moment the wards went down, the Dark Lord caught my eye and sent me a couple of his memories, as well as some emotions. His presence, it was... _powerful._ I don't know how else to explain it. A split-second's contact and I was left dizzy and nauseous for an hour."

"What'd he send you?"

"Lots of things," I said, laughing grimly, with a touch of the Black madness. "There's a secret place on the seventh floor opposite the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy; it's called the Room of Requirement, and is whatever you ask it to be. The Chamber of Secrets can be found in the abandoned girls' lavatory; there's a thousand-year-old basilisk named Melody down there; a library of parselmagic and the Dark Arts; and a warren of secret passageways across the entire school.

"As for instructions, he wants me to continue as I have been doing; recruitment, mostly. He wants me to lie low, learning the Dark Arts so I can be prepared and lethal for after his resurrection. He wants me to work on getting him resurrected _without_ finding his shade first, because I'm sure Twinkles has his spirit on lock-down.

"Why you? I mean, there's the prophecy and all, but you're still a First Year."

"I don't know," I lied.

_There's no way in Hell I'm telling Draco about the Horcrux inside of me. That's... private._

_ And when I figure out who the rat in the snakes' pit is, I'm going to kill him slowly._

* * *

The following weeks until the beginning of Samhain passed by in a blur of training, exploration, and deceit.

With Wormtail's knowledge of the pass-phrase, I was able to unlock the Marauders' Map. The sheer volume of hidden passageways Hogwarts contains is astounding; and, considering the Chamber of Secrets and the Room of Requirements are not listed, as well as (no doubt) others, the legendary castle is made all the more impressive. If only I knew how to add these two rooms to the Map, I could sneak a fifth name to the tally of creators. I may no longer have Lily's blood, but I still have James', and I assume that makes me a second-generation Marauder in all but silly nickname and animagus form.

_Assuming a metamorph can even be an animagus. _

I theorize that, as both are Transfiguration arts, it may be possible: perhaps even augmented. I'd mention it to Professor McGonogall if I thought it would go anywhere: for one, I don't want the Order and the Aurors to know my animal form; for two, I had only barely convinced her to advance me in my studies, and don't want to press my (already strenuous) luck. Perhaps I can make it my NEWT project, or study it with my Inner Circle as a bonding exercise slash unifying factor. The idea holds merit.

I just need to actually recruit an Inner Circle, first.

Nymphadora Tonks was at the top of my list. Having been advanced to Fourth Year Transfiguration by Professor McGonogall, the Head of the House of Lions saw fit to place me in her Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff class. It was clearly an attempt to endear me to Tonks, as I was 'subtly' placed in between her and the Puff's Seeker Cedric Diggory in a seating chart – never mind the little fact that McGonogall had never enacted such arrangements before. I idly wondered if this was her idea or Twinkles'.

The class had begun normally enough, though.

_"What's with the firstie here? Think she's lost?"_

_ "Not likely. The Snakes never let one of their First Years' run off alone the first two weeks."_

_ "Maybe she needs to talk to McGonogall about som..."_

_ "...ther unlucky to wander into Gryff territory."_

_ I stood, leaning against the smooth doorway of the Transfiguration classroom, face adapting an uninterested and bored expression, listening to and ignoring the varied murmuring of the Fourth Years. Almost all of them had a theory to share about my attendance, and not a one of them guessed correctly. Tonks was unusually quiet, a knowing glint in her eye: perhaps she, too, is a prodigy in Transfiguration. At last, McGonogall spoke._

_ "Settle down, settle down. Today we will begin our work on Free Point Transfiguration, starting with object-to-object like-size shiftings. But before we begin, I would like to introduce our newest student. Miss Andromeda Malfoy has been accepted into this Fourth Year class, despite being only a First Year. I would like you all to accept her into the fold, ignoring the age gap and House rivalry. If I see anyone disrespecting Miss Malfoy for her differences, you will be seeing me in detention."_

_ And just like that, the Deputy Headmistress had unknowingly sentenced me to a fate of mockery and discrimination from her oh-so-noble Gryffindors and the pack mentality of the Hufflepuffs. Is she so far removed from her childhood that she has forgotten the casual cruelty of the human race? The only barrier between me and them is Tonks, and whoever rallies around her. Not that I require or even desire her aid: I can more than handle myself._

_ I glided confidently across the classroom towards my assigned desk, absentmindedly ruffling Tonks' forget-me-not blue hair as I weaved past her. She yelped in surprise and indignation, shattering the silence that engulfed the classroom. Whispers broke out as the Fourth Years discussed my "controversial" advancement, and I gracefully seated myself at my table._

_ "Professor McGonogall?" One particularly idiotic Lion questioned. His hand was held high in the air, and his chin held an imperious tilt. "We've worked three years to get here. How comes the Snake gets a free ride? Her daddy pay the school to let her through?"_

_ "He's a prat – don't mind him," Tonks whispered into my ear. Her breath tickled my creamy white skin and I smirked in reply._

_ "If you think the uneducated slandering of a muggleborn Gryffindor is going to cause me to break out in tears, you clearly don't know me at all." I slipped a sugar quill from my magically-expanded satchel, sucking on it idly. It can pass as a regular quill and a bad habit, so it's not like the good Professor can stop me. "Mockery and hatred is like bread and butter for 'us filthy snakes.' We thrive on it."_

_ "'Course it is," Tonks whispered back, smothering a laugh. "Just like puppies and rainbows are for us Puffs, yah? Right."_

_ I returned my attention to the Professor, just in time to hear her declare "detention, Mister Deseray, nine o' clock tonight." I snickered just loudly enough for the mudblood to hear me. "And no, there was no... monetary dispensation. Miss Malfoy scored a High Distinction on the Third Year Exams for Transfiguration, which is two grades above an Outstanding, and five grades above your Poor. If she was not prepared to attend this class, well, neither are any of you."_

_ "Professor?" Cedric Diggory began, smiling apologetically at me before turning back towards the teacher. I barely noticed, far too busy enjoying Deseray's obvious humiliation. "I wasn't aware that Hogwarts allowed students to test out of lower years. I had thought that students who show a talent are given an Independent Study period. No offense towards Miss Malfoy, of course."_

_ "Normally, yes," the Professor agreed, leaning back against her desk. "And in the past we would not have allowed such a practice. However, when... certain people had enabled Mister Longbottom to 'skip' a year in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a precedent was set. When Miss Malfoy came to us with such a remarkable grade, I was loath to turn her petition down._

_ "Now, enough of that! Wands away and quills out. What is Free Point Transfiguration, and how does it differ from Incanted Transfiguration? Miss Tonks?"_

_ The class was remarkably refreshing; it was delightful to actually learn something new about my favorite art without having to resort to the family knowledge stored in the grimoire of the Two-Tailed Fox._

_ And although McGonogall would never so much as mention Light or Dark Transfiguration, I will grudgingly admit that she is an excellent teacher and a master of the art._

_ "You're speaking to me in public, now? Was all that sneaking around just for kicks?" Tonks wondered once the lecture was complete and we were given a teacup to Transfigure. I was idly designing my freshly shifted Slytherin-themed jewelry box with swirling lotus spirals of cold silver. "You're not one of them kinky types, are ya? Not that I would mind if ya' are, Dromy. I can get into that."_

_ "Of course, dear cousin," I replied, being deliberately ambiguous in my answer. Was I referring to the first question, or the second, or the third? I wasn't about to let her find out. "And my Mother has commanded me to ingratiate myself with you, so as to subvert you to our side of the family. Feel free to hold your reply in check, indefinitely. He has not given me a set date to have a response prepared by."_

_ "I'll keep that in mind," Tonks laughed, morphing her body to match mine. Scarlet hair darkened to black, and chocolate brown eyes lightened to a shining violet. She was a slightly older Bellatrix clone, and I smiled a slight, honest smile as she wrapped her arm around my shoulders. "So, little sis – can I call you little sis? - how in the name of the Thousand Gods did you manage to get Proff McGee to actually like you? I want the lay-down, damn it!"_

_ "Swear to never call me Dromy again, 'Dora,' and I might consider sharing with you my Slytherin secrets."_

It would take me a long time to treat Dora as affectionately as I do Mother, Draco, and Regulus, but it was a damn good start. Referring to her with that pet name which, according to Cedric, _only_ her family is allowed to utter, made it all the more surreal. And while I scowl and pretend I hate her casual physical contact, I secretly like it. Of course, only my brothers and mother would know; being a metamorph, I have outstanding control over my expressions.

Dora isn't the only Hogwarts student I've gotten closer to, though. Shunting aside the amusement flickering within me after every one of the Twins' delightful practical jokes, I inspected their pranking craftsmanship with a Slytherin's eye for details. As I had hypothesized, underneath the surface layer of well-intentioned hilarity with a touch of mockery lies a wellspring of genius-level skill. They utilized simple charms and potions in creative ways no one else could ever design, and I knew it was only a matter of time until they began crafting their own magic. And when they set off on this path, I wanted to be there, as both their trusted confidant and partner-in-crime.

I was placed in Slytherin House for a reason, and it wasn't because of my meager amount of ambition – all I desire out of life is contentment, with family and a place at the Dark Lord's side. No, for what I lacked in ambition I made up for with cunning. And I realized that merely returning the Map with a pat on the head wouldn't earn the respect of the Twins, and it was their respect that I need.

The first step in my plan was impress upon them that I was a figure to be respected - not for my power, but for my skill. I would have to speak in the only language they know: pranking. I had to be careful so as not to be caught. If word got out that I sidelined as a 'happy-go-lucky prankster' my reputation and my other Tasks could suffer. Unlike the Twins, I required complete anonymity. And Mother always said strong first impressions last longest.

And so on October the Twenty First, five minutes 'til midnight, the first of many plots was set into motion. The Twins wouldn't know what hit them.

* * *

_**A/N: **When they are given a prophecy that the Dark Lord will come back, the people pressured their government into preparing for a civil war. I had to make the prophecy public for the Dark Lord to want to abduct Andromeda (without resorting to Snape-The-Spy), which lead to everyone knowing about the prophecy, which lead to an active Ministry. It'll make the War far, far more interesting and far, far more bloody._


End file.
